Weird Fiction

I was walking down Gamut Street in London, carefully avoiding the chewing gum and vomit on the pavement. It had rained last night - the flagstones shone darkly, and were ever so slightly treacherous. As such, my eyes were mostly on the ground, only occasionally stealing glances at the posters advertising last year's rock/pop concerts, at the drunks reeling by, at the people walking past me. And, of course, at the girls walking past me.

It's an exquisite little thrill, walking down the street with all your muscles feeling loose and ready, yourself feeling confident and handsome. You start with the face, taking in the eyes and nose and, naturally, the mouth, some processing segment of your brain resolving all those dimensions and co-ordinates instantaneously to tell you if this one is "pretty" or "not". Then the rove, slow or fast depending on the situation, judging the quality of the breasts, the legs, the stomach. Now back up, for your eyes to meet as you pass, a flickering glance that both of you delay so that the other looks first. When you're behind, never to meet again, maybe you glance backwards to check out her ass. Maybe you catch her doing the same.

Today was different, somehow.

I had glanced up briefly from my cautious inspection of the ground beneath my feet and I saw her. Looking at her, I took all of her in with one glance in which I saw everything with absolute detail, from the colour of her eyes to the style of her shoes. I knew I had discovered my perfect woman. She was barely shorter than me, standing, I guessed, at around 5'10. She was willowy, not just slender: her body seemed to possess some innate suppleness that it boasted about with every step. She had straight black hair that hung to just below her shoulders and was dressed in a classily sexy way - a white blouse tight enough to see her figure without being obscene, her legs clasped by black jeans, a short jacket and low heels on her shoes.

Her eyes were chocolate brown, rich and dark, her nose a line of exquisite slenderness running down to the pale rose pout of her mouth. Her breasts... how to describe them... They were neither large nor small, but bulged roundly with animal force against the thin white blouse, which showed no hint of brassiere. She met my eyes when she was still far away and that rose smear quirked in an amused smile. Somehow I held her eyes, which seemed to burn with infernal fire. As we walked towards each other, every step seemed to tighten a vise on my heart and time seemed to slow. Nearer now, and I could make out the unblemished texture of her skin and then she was past me and my perfect girl was no more than a figment that might have disappeared behind my back.

I couldn't do it. I spun round, ready to dash after her, my mind desperately casting about for anything I could say. She was standing still, leaning one slender arm against the top of a low wall, waiting for me. That lambent fire was still in her eyes and, though she was carelessly smiling, the look she gave me was concentrated lust. I didn't say anything, just walked towards her and she took my hand and she led me.

As I followed, I looked - her ass was magnificent, a flawless curved orb perched on her body. She turned and spoke to me and her voice was deep and almost stern.

"Think carefully. Are you sure you want to do this?"

I laughed and told her there was nothing I wanted more. Her eyes seemed to flare and she laughed too.

"Good... good."

Her voice was softer now, almost accentless. It was a voice for pillow talk and dirty talk, lover's words and cheater's demands. Listening to her, she could be English or Mongolian, French or Chinese. It was a powerful voice, it would carry far without needing to shout, and it commanded obedience as if from long acclimatisation to being obeyed.

She led me quickly to an alley I had not even known existed on this street I had crossed countless times. It was cobbled, and the ground was marked by a grid tracery of yesterday's rain. Small rough flowers grew in some of the cobbles, through the alley held no discernible scent.

I looked questioningly at her, but she reassured me. "Don't worry, we won't be seen." I didn't think for one moment about how she knew that, didn't worry that I had no protection. I was delirious with her.

She leaned in towards me and for the first time I smelled her. Her scent was potent and sexual, like honey and scorched earth, nectar and wine. Her lips met mine and those, too, seemed to be aflame. Then all thought and sense fled me for an immeasurable time.

I met her kiss with my own, my tongue dashing into her mouth and meeting hers. Even as we kissed, her hands were stroking my cock through my trousers. I had been hard since she had taken my hand, and her long, languorous strokes made my heart race. My hands went to her blouse and fumbled at the buttons. She stopped caressing my cock, making me moan in disappointment, and ripped her blouse open.

My hands touched her magnificent breasts; felt the inhuman softness of her skin and the delicious weight of each breast. I gently circled her nipples then pinched them as her hands clenched around my balls.

She leant against the wall with her arms wrapped loosely around my neck as I finally took my mouth from hers and suckled her breasts. I lapped at them, coating them in a gloss of my saliva, before nibbling and sucking at her fiery red nipples. Her skin tasted almost spicy. She was moaning constantly, low animal grunts of extreme pleasure.

Then I unzipped her jeans and tugged them down just enough to have unimpeded access to her cunt. She did not wear underwear at all it seemed, as her pussy was not covered by the merest breath of cloth. Her labia were light olive and dusted with a light puff of trimmed black hair. She was dripping wet and my fingers burned as they bathed in her juices. I knelt on the cobbles in front of her, caring about neither the water staining my trousers nor the pain of the cobbles pressing against my knees. My tongue danced over her clitoris as my fingers brushed her pussy. She was moaning louder now, and I was amazed no-one was coming to investigate the noise we were making.

But though I was drowning in the evidence of her pleasure, she stopped me and pulled me up. With irresistible strength she pushed me against the opposite wall of the alley and knelt before me, unzipping my fly. She maneuvered my cock out of my underwear and through the narrow gate of my fly. Her hand was deliciously cool against the soft flesh of my raging erection and the jarring change as she took me into her boiling mouth should have made me come. Somehow I held on.

She worked my cock expertly, playing along the shaft with her tongue as she suckled on me, relinquishing the long inches from her throat to slurp at the head. Again, I don't know how long it lasted, but such attentions should have made me come. It was as if here, with my perfect woman, we were making perfect love and could continue until our bodies immolated in pleasure.

Suddenly she stopped fellating me and, pulling me by the shoulders, pressed her back against the alley wall. By some quirk of fate, even here she was ideal: my cock and her cunt aligned as if precision engineered to the task. I slowly moved in to her, rubbing the head of my cock tantalisingly around her pussy lips. Then, working hard against her unparalleled tightness, I forced my way inside her. Desperate with passion, she helped me, her hips pushing off the wall until finally, both of us sweating and gasping, not one millimetre of my cock was not engulfed in her little pussy.

We stood for a while, enjoying the sensation, then I began to thrust. I alternated my strokes, fucking her hard and fast one moment, then slowly and longly the next. Regardless of my pace, her moans matched me, producing one intoxicating gasp for every thrust. A low red flush began to spread across her breasts and cheeks and her moans became strangled cries of "Oh, yes...yes."

We fucked for an aeon, it seemed and then she sprang up, wrapping her legs about my waste. Her new position meant her already tight cunt now gripped me with even greater fervour. She leaned forwards so that I, unbalanced, fell back against the opposite wall. Then, her fingers like claws ripping through my shirt and into the flesh of my shoulders, she began to buck wildly against me.

Usually I'm quite quiet when having sex, only breathing heavily as I come. But here, having the best sex of all time, I soon matched her cries in both loudness and frequency. At last, thrashing violently, we came with absolute synchronicity. I held her for a moment, before slowly letting her down on her feet, my cock making a thick sucking noise as it slipped out of her glutinous cunt.

We recovered our breath and she dressed. By some miracle, her blouse had retained all its buttons and soon we stood respectable - if respectable means burning red and sweat soaked.

"I'll see you around," she said, and gave me a painful nip on the bottom. Then, before I could say anything, she walked out of the alley.

I didn't even know her name.

I went home and showered, the hot water seeming frosty compared to the touch of her body. Then I heard the bathroom door open and my girlfriend joined me in the shower. I turned towards her but after my encounter, I could summon no passion for her lesser body.

She didn't notice though, standing behind me, her hands reaching around to stroke my absolutely flaccid cock. When I didn't respond she got annoyed and made to leave the shower.

"Holy shit," she said. "Did you get a tattoo?"

"No. What are you talking about?"

"This," she replied. Her hands traced a small area on my buttock where my girl had pinched me. I craned my neck around and finally managed, after wiping off condensation with a face cloth, to get a look at it in the mirror. Perched on the right cheek of my buttock was what looked like a scarlet birthmark in the shape of a cloven hoof.

Later that day, checking through my clothes before putting them in the washing machine, I found my girl had slipped a business card into my trouser pocket. It was printed on rich creamy paper, and inlaid with a slender filigree of gold. The gold also picked out the letters on the card, which read "Lucy Fir".

On the back of the card a confident hand had inscribed a message for me in red ink.

"Tom," it read. "It was a pleasure doing business with you. For what you paid me, you have two more sessions with me. Just call my name three times, and I'll be there. Lucy Fir."

I wondered for a while how she knew my name. Then I forgot that pale concern as I realised how stupid I had been and I fell on my knees and prayed to a God to whom my cries were now inconsequential.